Those Who Favor Fire
by incense and peppermints
Summary: Natalie Winchester is an average ten year old with anything but an average life. Any way you look at it, the hunting lifestyle isn't easy when you're ten years old. Pre series. On Hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the series or most of the family featured here. Those Who Favor Fire is taken from a Robert Frost poem.

AN: So I never thought I'd actually write an SPN sister story. I used to be pretty anti sisters in this fandom... I still feel slightly sacrilegious here, but this story hit me, begged to be written and took the ground running. Hope you enjoy.

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_Monday, August 3rd, 1998_

Many nights I toss and turn. I close my eye and see the same things. Memories.

I see me three years old rolling around the driveway in fancy _Hot Wheels_ trike. Pink, my favorite color then, my least favorite now. I don't know why that stands out, but it does. Pink, pink, pink. Everything pink. I pedal faster at the encouragement of my big sister Chelsea, faster, faster, faster until I hit a rock and tip over. That's when I get my first big scraped knee. I scream instantly, maybe from the pain, maybe from the sight of dripping blood and split skin, and when Mom rushes to my side, I do what every indignant little sister would; I stab my finger at Chelsea over and over again, blaming her for all and everything that happened.

Mom interrogates her and scoops me up at the same time. I don't know what they talk about or if Chelsea even got in trouble. It's muffled in my memory, their voices fade in and out. All I remember is Mom holding me close as I wailed bloody murder, and I feel safe, like the scraped knee didn't matter anymore. Of course I pout when she sets me down and make her kiss it better.

Later—I don't remember how much later—Chelsea and I watch _The Little Mermaid_. The scenes from the movie still flash in my head years later, mostly the scary Ursula scenes, and this is where the memory ends.

It's the only memory I have of my sister, and one of two I have of my mother.

The other is when I watched her die.

I presume Chelsea died that night too. I don't know how or why. All I recall is Mom charging towards me and trying to dash away. She looks like my mom, but somehow she's not the same. She's not the loving, kind lady who held me after I scraped my knee. She's a monster, like Ursula, mean and evil.

A boy picks me up and starts running with me in his arms. I don't know the boy. I try to break free and kick him with all my tiny might, but he grasps me tight. A moment later, a gunshot fires, the sounds still rings in my ears whenever I remember, and out of the corner of my eyes, the shadow of my mother tips over and crashes to the ground.

That's it. That's the last of my mom, and before I know it, I race away in a car with the boy, another boy, and the man who fired the bullet.

I scream for Mom, even though she'd tried to hurt me. I scream for Chelsea too, wherever she is. This is when the boy tells me he's my brother Dean. He still holds me and tries to quiet me. He deserves a lot of credit for that. I must've been the most difficult three year old to console in the history of upset children, but I'll be damned if he didn't try.

By the time we stop for the night, I trust him and no one else. For the next three months, it'll be this way.

The smaller boy cuddles up to Dean's opposite side. Dean says he's my brother too—Sam—but the man who Dean calls Dad remains silent. I don't understand.

Sometimes when this memory replays I still don't understand, and sometimes I question if it actually happened.

xxxx

The best weeks are when we're stopped in one town for more than just a day. I get to play other kids. Sometimes if I'm lucky, I get to go to a normal school, and if I'm even luckier make friends, but never best friends because I know we'll have to leave soon. This week is one of those weeks. We've been in Valley City, North Dakota for a whole month in fact, living in a tiny apartment Dad rented for us. He's been all over the state and deemed this town safe for us to bunk out while he does his monster hunting thing, or as he makes us tell people—_door to door sales._

I sit on a swing next to a boy called Iggy. I don't know if that's his real name, but that's what he told me to call him when I met him three weeks ago. We come to Chautauqua Park every day. It's summer, so I don't get to go to school, but that doesn't bother me. Sometimes it does. Not this time though, because I've had Iggy's company for three weeks now. We come to this park, we even went swimming a couple days, and if I could have a real best friend, I might pick him.

He understands me. His family has to move a lot too. Not sure why; when I asked, he said he wasn't allowed to say, but he's a nice boy, even if Sam doesn't want me coming here every day to see him. Usually it's Dean who gets crabby like that, but time time around, Dean think it's a good thing I got a "little friend my age" to see. Maybe Sam's just jealous he didn't meet somebody here..

"I have to leave in fifteen minutes," Iggy tells me. "Dad says so."

"For good or just for today?" I twiddle my thumbs, hopeful for a positive answer, but when he shakes his head, I know I'm gonna hear the opposite.

"For good." He looks sad, and I don't know what to tell him. I'm sad too. I'm sad for him and even sadder for myself that I'm going to lose another temporary best friend.

"Maybe we could email each other?" I suggest, but before I get a response from him, his dad shows up and calls for him across the park.

"Harold, we need to pack," the man says as we get closer. So that's his real name—_Harold_. I can see why he liked Iggy.

Iggy gets up. "Bye, Natalie," he says and follows his father out of the park.

"Bye, Iggy," I say, but he's already twenty feet away.

I watch until he's just a speck, and that's the last I'll ever see of him.

I sit on the swing for a long time after he leaves, just swinging back and forth, back and forth. I observe the other kids. They play in the sandbox, slide down the slide, chase each other, and every single one of them has somebody with them.

Not me. I'm here alone now.

So much for liking Valley City. I think I hate it now. We can move any day, and I'll be happier than happy.

I stay in the park until it seems like all the other kids are leaving for supper, and some time later, Sam shows up.

He calls my name, but I keep swinging, ignoring him.

He creeps up behind me, catches the swing chains, and slows it to a halt. I try to keep swinging against his efforts, but he's stronger than me and comes out the clear victor. "What do you want?" I ask him, arms crossed across my chest. Sam didn't want me to be friends with that kid in the first place, and now he got his way. That's a good enough reason to be irritated with him, right?

"C'mon, don't be a brat," he says with a sigh. "We've been looking for you, and if you'd stayed gone one more hour, Dean would've lost it."

I roll my eyes. "You knew where I'd be."

"Uh huh, you've been all over town with that Iggy kid, Nat." He lifts me off the swing and sets me on my feet. "How're we supposed to know where today's adventure began and end?"

I shrug. I don't know how. They always seem to know where I am when I don't want them to know, so you'd think they had some kind of psychic powers. Makes enough sense to me.

Sam nudges me forward and I begrudgingly follow him. "So you should be happy, Sam," I tell him a moment later. "That kid you hate is leaving for good."

"Jeez, I never said I hated him," Sam telling me, rubbing his forehead. "I just thought something seemed weird about him."

"Well … _you're_ weird." It's a shitty comeback, I know, but it'll have to do for now. I probably shouldn't call something shitty in my head either. Dad doesn't like it when I say words like that, 'cause I'm ten, but I've noticed a good six or seven words he and Dean especially like to reuse in their everyday vocabulary. Shit is definitely one of them. Sam doesn't swear as much. He likes to use smart people words he thinks only he knows the real meaning of, but I know what most of them mean. I'm smarter than he thinks I am.

My brothers and Dad treat me like a helpless little kid, and I hate it. Dad teaches me all the same stuff he teaches them—how to shoot a gun, the importance of rock salt, and so on and so forth—but I don't get to use it much. He says I need to know so I could protect myself if I had to, but I never get to do any real hunting.

"Natalie," Sam snaps. "God, are you ignoring me on purpose?"

"No," I grumble. "I was just thinking."

"Well, I'm trying to ask you something here, so maybe you should listen?"

"What?"

He nudges my arm out of annoyance; I guess it was supposed to be a punch or something, but it didn't hurt.

"I asked where that Iggy kid went."

"I don't know," I tell him. "He never said."

Sam sighs and rolls his eyes like he doesn't believe me. We walk in silence the rest of the way to the apartment.

xxxx

"There she is, the little runaway." Dean stares at me, and I can't tell if he's annoyed or amused. "Did I not say be back by three?"

"You might've mentioned it..."

"Uh huh." He strolls up to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "And what part of that was hard to understand?"

"All of it," I say, just to annoy him.

"Ooo, bad answer." He shakes his head. "I'm sure Dad would love to hear that one."

"C'mon, Dean, I was joking." Dad gets bent out of shape when we don't listen to Dean, and even worse when we don't listen to him. He's always been like that, says there's no time or room for disobedience with what we do, and Dean takes advantage of it too. He threatens to tattle a lot, and sometimes, especially when you think he won't, he does.

"Well, I wasn't joking about being back by three." He tilts my chin up to make sure I'm looking at him. "No more late arrivals, you hear me?"

"Yeah, whatever.." I don't mean to sound snappy, but I know I do. I'm just in a bad mood because Iggy left. I shouldn't be. I should be used to disappointment like that by now, but this sucks.

"You know, Dad totally gave me permission to kick your ass," Dean says, his facial expression surprisingly serious. "So I'd watch it if I were you."

He pats my arm and turns to walk away. Somehow I know he's means it this time. He likes to say that to Sam and I both, and we try to be nicer just to humor him. As bossy and annoying as he is, I like Dean most of the time. I wish I acted cooler, but overall he's pretty cool.

"Think fast," I hear, but before I can think, a snickers bar pelts me across the face.

"Ugh, whoever threw this is dead meat," I say, even if the thought of me hurting either of them is laughable at best. "What the hell was that for anyway?"

"Supper," Dean says, taking a bite out of his.

"Supper?" I question.

"You bet."

"Wasn't my idea," Sam throws in.

"Just eat the damn chocolate and shut your cake hole, Sammy," Dean says through a mouthful of snickers bar.

Sam opens a bag of pretzels and starts eating them instead.

"Fine," Dean says, snatching the candy bar from Sam. "I'll eat yours."

I sigh and open my candy bar before his insatiable appetite thinks to grab mine. This is how things always work around here. They bicker about the stupidest things, and sometimes I join them out of boredom. What else_ is_ there to do except argue with your siblings when you spend most of your days in a hotel room?

I take a bite of the candy, but before I can chew and swallow, the door bolts open. "Pack up as fast as you can," Dad orders.

We all stare at him for a second.

He claps his hands together loudly. "_Now._"

"What's going on?" Sam asks, and Dad meets him with a glare.

Dean grabs Sam, pushing him towards his duffel bag and shoots a look back at me. "Just listen to him," he tells us both.

And we do.

We gather up everything in less than fives minutes and hit the road again.

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Reviews would be fantastic. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own.

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I hate being in a car. You feel cooped up; there's nothing to do but read, draw in a notebook, sleep, or fight with your brothers. It gets old fast, and I would know. Sometimes it seems like I spend half my life in a car, and that's _not_ an understatement. We're always on the go. You get used to it, but you still get bored.

There's never a cure for car boredom. Believe me, I've tried them all...

Dean tries to ask Dad where we're going fifteen minutes into the drive, and Dad barks at us to shut up. Sam and I look at each other, and I can tell we're both thinking the same thing: something big is up. Dad's a little intense most of the time, but this seems more intense than his usual intense. This seems like his "I'm worried about something" intense. When he's like this, you better not cross him the wrong way either. He'll jump on you so fast you don't know what hit you.

Ask Sam. He knows all about that.

"Dad, don't you have to tell the landlord you're leaving when you vacate an apartment?" Sam asks.

I glare at him. I have no clue what he's talking about, but I know the way he said it will certainly irritate Dad. He knew it would too; the look on his face says it all, says he's feeling bold enough to provoke our father, even if he knows he's not in the mood.

Dad ignores him at first thankfully—maybe he's not as angry as I thought he was—and Dean sends Sam one heck of a warning glance. Good, that should be enough to shut Sam up. Sam'll listen to Dean. Maybe even better than I'll listen to Dean, and that says something, but apparently Dean's "What the hell are you thinking?" look isn't enough today.

Sam glares right back at Dean and keeps talking. "You could probably get in legal trouble for that."

"Sam," I whisper forcefully. If Dean can't, I should try at least, even if I probably won't get far.

He gives me a pointed look. "_What_?"

"Shut it," I tell him in my meanest voice possible.

He shakes his head at me.

"Sammy, have we ever done anything the legal way?" Dean asks with a smirk.

Sam rolls his eyes

He knows Dean's right. We all do. I still remember Dean sitting me down for a big talk about stealing and stuff like that. He basically told me we had to make do the best we could with the hunting lifestyle, which meant they stole money and did other bad guy stuff; he said we weren't allowed to steal anything though. Anything we needed to have, Dad'd get for us however means he found, and I always thought that was kinda unfair.

I whined about that to Sam once and got told I was lucky and should be grateful for that. He says Dean and Dad lied to him when he was younger, but they've been upfront with me since the day I entered the family. Truth be told I think Sam was the real lucky one. He got to pretend monsters were figments of his imagination for a while, and I never did.

I guess they had no choice though. I already saw my mom die at the hands of evil things they hunted against. Sam saw his and Dean's mom die too, but he wasn't old enough to remember it.

I was. Barely at that because it's one of two memories I have, but I remember. I remember that night too perfectly, and I wish I didn't. Maybe then I wouldn't dream about it so much.

Dreams aren't supposed to be real, so sometimes I think maybe it all is a recurring nightmare. I have a few of those every now and then, and my brothers and Dad say they aren't real when I wake up screaming, but they never say that about the one I have about my Mom. I guess that's how I know it's real.

"Dad, where're we going?" Sam asks impatiently. "You can't just make us leave that fast and tell us _nothing_."

I sigh and wait for the backlash. Sam does this. He doesn't fight with Dad a lot—he fights with him a lot a lot. I say smart things too sometimes, more than Dean ever would to Dad's face, but at least I don't push on purpose like this. Not all the time at least.

"Dad," Sam presses when he gets no answer.

"Sam, I don't have time for this," Dad growls in a dangerously low tone that makes me hold my breath, even though I'm not the one in trouble. "Ask me something like that one more time, and I'm pulling this car over, you got that?"

"Yes, sir," Sam retreats.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Sam lifts his eyebrows at me and bobs his head to Dad like he's fishing for my sympathy. I don't know why he does because he's _not_ getting it. Not this time.

Dad doesn't see his gestures, but Dean does. He reaches back and smacks Sam across the arm; Sam shoves him back, and when they don't stop, I slap them both as hard as they can, but unfortunately they're both immune to any hits from me. If they're not in the middle of fighting themselves, they'll stop and laugh at me.

"Enough," Dad roars, flipping his head around for a split second. "All three of you, knock it off."

We all cease and fall silent, even Sam knows it's time to be quiet.

That's when you know Dad's really losing it.

I pull my knees to my chest and curl up in a ball, hoping this car ride passes quickly. It's not night yet, but for some reason, these boring, long drives bring out sleepiness in me—if nothing else, it passes time.

I lean against the car door and shut my eyes, allowing myself to drift in and out of sleep. Every now and then, I hear Dad and Dean discuss things, and I strain to listen, but the talk too softly over the hum of the engine for me to hear or maybe I'm just too tired to make out words.

xxxx

An undetermined amount of time later, I wake up and realize at some point in my sleep I'd decided to use Sam's shoulder as a pillow.

He nudges me when he notices I'm awake, and I push myself up.

He takes his shoe off and starts unlacing it. I watch him, thinking he must be crazy...

He pulls the last of it out, ties it in a knot, strings it on his hand, and I finally get what he's doing—he wants to play cat's cradle.

I shrug and scoot closer to him again to play. At least it's a silent game... Even though I was asleep, I can still sense the tension in the air. When Dad gets upset, sometimes it's best to just be really silent until he calms down. Noise irritates him, even if it's just our usual back and forth bickering, which we _enjoy _believe it or not. At least I do. I like trying to win verbal smackdowns against my brothers because there's no way I could ever win a fist fight—like I said, they laugh at me—but as usual Dad'd threaten to pull the car over and that'd be the end of that, so cat's cradle it is

We play for maybe ten minutes before anyone says anything. Sam sets the shoelace down and we listen. Dean and Dad are talking about something that's apparently worth hearing... and now that I'm more awake, I can actually hear it.

"So you're gonna make us all stay at Bobby's while _you_ do this," Dean speaks softly. "All on your own? With no help? C'mon, Dad, you could leave them there, and I'll go with you..."

"You'll do whatever I tell you to, Dean," Dad says with resolve.

That shuts Dean up right away, and Sam heaves a tiny sigh. Luckily no one but me heard it happen. Sam's lucky I like him and that he might be my only real best friend, or I could tattle on him with all sorts of dirt. Sighing isn't so bad, but the things I know... I could blackmail him for life, and he knows it too.

"Sam and Natalie, you two are staying at Bobby's for a while," Dad announces a couple minutes later, and that makes it official. "Dean and I got some stuff to take care of."

Dean looks self-satisfied.

"Dad, what the hell?" Sam protests. "Why can't I go?"

Sam always tells me he isn't gonna be a hunter once he can leave home, but he sure does pitch a fit if they don't include him... I don't blame him either. Not being included sucks, and being the youngest, not to mention a girl, I'm included even less than him.

"If Bobby needs to leave for some reason, somebody has to watch your sister," Dad says sternly. "I need you to stay with her, Sam."

"I'd be okay on my own," I pipe up. It's not to defend Sam either. To be honest, I would prefer Sam's company, but I hate them talking about me like I can never be left alone. I may be ten, but I like to think I'm trustworthy enough. "I'd be fine!"

"You're ten, baby," Dad says before I can argue anything more. "No."

He says it less firmly than I might expect, but his voice still holds authority I can't argue with.

"Yes, sir," I agree, even if I don't want to.

He flashes a small smile at me, which tells me his temper is fading somewhat.

Sam still looks mad, but he says nothing and just stares out the window.

xxxx

I must've fallen asleep again because I wake up in a hotel room.

Dad sits down on the bed when he notices I'm awake. "This isn't Bobby's," I mumble, confused.

"We're stopping here for the night," Dad tells me. "Bobby's gonna drive up to get you two tomorrow."

"Oh …" I glance around the room. It's just another crappy motel room, but at least it smells clean. "Where're Sam and Dean?"

"Left to get us some food."

I sit up and rub my eyes. "Good, I'm hungry..."

Dad smirks and pats the space on the bed beside him. He's clearly in a better mood.

"Come here, I wanna talk to you," he says.

"Why?" I ask, but I scoot closer to him anyway.

He lifts me up and sets me on his lap, wrapping his arms around me. I hate when he does this. I'm not a baby, only a _little _on the small side for my age, but sometimes I don't mind, I guess. It can be nice... I lean against his chest and relax, glad my brothers aren't here to see it. They probably wouldn't make fun of me or call me spoiled, but sometimes I worry they think that when Dad is harder on them than me. In fact, I'm certain they think that.

"I wanna talk to you about the friend you had in Valley City," he starts. "Sam was telling me a little about him."

"Oh, Iggy was just a friend, Dad," I joke. "You don't have to worry. I wasn't gonna date him or anything..."

Dad laughs. I like it when he laughs. He has a good laugh, and it makes me feel better on the inside than when he yells, which he does a lot.

"Of course he was just a friend," Dad says, squeezing my arm. "But I'm curious about him. Can you tell me a thing or a two?"

I shrug. "Like what?"

"Did he tell you about his family?"

"He said they move a lot like we do," I explain, "but he said he wasn't allowed to talk about them..."

"I see," Dad says. "Did you tell him anything about us?"

"A little..." I swallow hard. He always insists we keep certain things secret, if not say nothing at all, so I can't imagine he'll be happy about my admission.

I didn't tell him much. Basically no more than he told me. We move a lot, I lied and said Dad had a sales job too, so it can't be too bad. I'm not stupid. I would _never_ tell somebody we were hunters.

"What'd you tell him?"

"That we move a lot too," I answer quietly. "That's pretty much all."

"Good." I can tell he's relieved, and I wonder why.

"Why do you wanna know about Iggy, Dad?" I ask.

"Nothing you need to worry about," he tells me.

"But why … is Iggy bad?" I press, the thought making my stomach churn a little. It wouldn't be the first time one of my friends turned out bad, but at least then I had a gut feeling something might be wrong. I never got that with Iggy.

He shakes his head slightly. "No I don't think so."

I pull away and study his face, trying to figure out if he's lying to me or not.

I can't tell, so I lean against him again and sigh.

He probably won't tell me anything even if I ask, so I decide I'll talk to Sam about it later. Sam'll tell me everything he knows. He usually does at least.

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Well, I hope she's not an annoying addition so far... Gosh, I have such a hard time balancing a ten year old voice. I also hope our favorite characters here seem in character!

That all sad, I welcome all opinions. Reviews appreciated! :)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own.

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I sit with Dad for what seems like a long time, wondering why he was asking me about Iggy. I replay all the outings I had with him in my head, and _nothing_ seemed out of the ordinary in any of them.

In fact, I can't think of a single way in which he wasn't normal. Maybe Dad and Sam are just being paranoid again. They do that sometimes, but Dad seems even more concerned than usual...

When Sam and Dean get back a few minutes later, I climb off Dad's lap out of embarrassment. The last thing I want them thinking tonight is that I'm spoiled just because I'm the baby and the girl. It's stupid. I didn't choose to be either. If I could choose, I'd be a boy.

"Hold on, Natalie," Dad stops me for a second. "I want you to promise me something."

I turn back. "What?"

"Next time you find a friend like that, don't even tell them we move a lot." He shakes his finger at me slightly as he says it, so I know he's dead serious.

"But what else do I tell them?" I ask, confused. "I mean, they're gonna wonder why we leave in a week."

He shakes his head. "Don't tell them anything."

I curl my lip under my teeth and fight the urge to tell him that's mean. It is mean to just leave without saying something, especially if somebody starts to like you, but I know what he expects me to say right now. "Yes, sir," I tell him. That's what he always wants us to say. I think it sounds really old-fashioned. I don't know a whole lots of kids, but none of them have to say that to their fathers.

The funny thing is I don't remember him telling me I _had_ to say it. Dean and Sam always did, especially Dean, so I figure that's just what you say. It seems to make him lay off you, so it must be what he likes to hear.

He pats my shoulder as a thank you, and I scurry off to get food.

Dean has four slices of pizza on a paper plate by I reach the box of pizza. "Jeez, leave some for us, Dean," I tease him. He's disgusting. I've never met someone who could eat like that.

"I got two pizzas for a reason," he tells me, but you almost can't understand him through the mouthful of food. He's gonna be fat someday. I just know it. Maybe not now, but when he's Dad's age, he'll probably be really fat 'cause he eats everything in plain sight, and ugh, I hate it sometimes.

I wish he'd eat like a normal human being.

Dad grabs a slice and his car keys in the other. I watch him anxiously, wondering what he has planned and why he's leaving so soon. We just got here. Sometimes he takes off fast, but that means something big is happening.

"Where're you going?" Sam asks him.

"If I'm not back by morning, tell Bobby I'm missing," he tells us, not even bothering with an explanation.

Dean sets his pizza down. "Dad," he almost scolds. "What the hell?"

When Dean asks him, I automatically feel okay to disagree with him too.

"You all stay here," Dad says, taking the chance to stare at each of us. "That's an order."

"Dad, you didn't say anything about this until now..." I protest, shaking my head at him.

He gives me an icy look.

"Daad," I almost whine. He can't just leave with no explanation. This is unfair.

He walks up to me and pulls me into a quick hug. "I'll be fine. You stay with your brothers," he says, and when he releases me, he gives me a firm swat on the seat of my jeans. I don't know what that's supposed to mean. A reminder to behave? An act of endearment? Maybe both... My dad's a hard guy to read sometimes.

"If I'm not back by morning, tell Bobby I'm missing," he repeats, looking at Dean in particular, and with that, he leaves.

"Wow," Sam says as soon as he's gone. I think the exact same thing, but I keep quiet.

Dean promptly smacks him upside the head. "Dude, I'm sure he has his reasons," he tells Sam, and I roll my eyes that Dean's going to agree with Dad once again, _even _when he questioned him at first this time.

Sam smacks him right back. "He could bother to explain himself every now and then."

"Yeah," I add, agreeing with Sam.

Dean clenches and unclenches a fist, but he's only staring at Sam and not me, almost like he hadn't even heard what I said. "Just … don't bitch about it, Sammy, alright?" he barks at Sam.

"Fine," Sam says. "But I will bitch about you calling me Sammy. It's Sam, Dean. _Sam_."

Dean shrugs, and I exhale, relieved that the tension in the air passed slightly "If you didn't act like a little girl so much, maybe I wouldn't," Dean says with a wink, and Sam tackles him.

There they go again. So much for being relieved... They always do this. They're always getting into stupid little spats and duking it out for the heck of it, almost like they enjoy it. I know they do too.

Sam manages to pin Dean down. He's been taller than Dean since he turned fourteen, and now that he's fifteen, he's about as strong too. A couple years ago, Dean always won, but Sam could definitely hold his own now.

"Who's the little girl now?" he asks Dean when it's clear he's claimed victory, and I sigh loudly at their lame choice of insults.

"Shut up," I snap at them both. "You make being a girl sound like a bad thing."

Dean shoves Sam off him and gets up. "Yeah, Sammy."

"You were the one who started the insult," Sam grumbles back.

I glare at them both. "Just shut up," I insist.

They both smirk, and I can't stand it. This isn't funny!

I turn and punch them both as hard as I could to prove I could do damage, even as a "little girl". I grimace, realizing I hurt my own fist in the process.

Dean grabs my shoulders and whirls me around to face him. "What the hell was that for?"

"Remember that the next time you wanna call each other little girls!" I tell him firmly.

"Woah, kid, you need to chill out." He pushes me up to the bed and presses down on my shoulders to make me sit. "Little ball of fire here, aren't we?"

It's tempting to give him the middle finger. I've seen Sam do that once or twice, and it certainly irritated Dean, so I_ want _to, just to make him seethe, but I don't. Dean is bossy. He's almost as bad as Dad about insisting we listen to him sometimes, and I know I'll just dig myself into a deep hole.

Sam sits beside me. "Hey, that actually hurt, Nat," he says like he's proud of me. He holds up his hand, and I high-five him, giving Dean one heck of a smug grin as I do.

"Oh, so you wanna encourage this kind of behavior?" Dean asks him, lifting both eyebrows.

"We punch each other all the time, don't we?" Sam shrugs. "Why can't she?"

Dean growls something unintelligible and shakes his head. "_Because_," he insists, pointing at me. "Just … because ..." He pauses for a second, and Sam and I both get a kick out of watching him struggle for words.

Sometimes when Dean gets flustered, it's hilarious. Other times it's downright scary, but right now it's funny.

"I got it," Dean concludes finally, a smile smile creeping across his lips. "Because we can't punch her back. That's it."

Sam balls a fist and taps my arm lightly with it. "Ooh, I just did," he says, and Dean ignores him, grabbing his pizza again.

Dean doesn't admit when he loses arguments very often. He just changes the subject and pretends there never was an argument. It's annoying, but he's always been this way.

I shake my head at him. Right now, he's eating two slices at the same time, and I just stare at him in disgust.

"Impressed?" he teases me.

"More like grossed out," I say.

He pats my head, and I cringe, hoping there isn't pizza grease on his hands.

I get up and grab a piece for myself. When I sit back down, I take small bites, trying not to get anxious about Dad.

We all are from what I can tell. We fight a lot about stupid things, but sometimes I think we fight more when we're worried. To pass the time or something... I guess, it works.

xxxx

Dean passes out quickly, his head face down in a pillow, and the snoring is so loud, you could just jab your ears out.

Sam sits at the end of the bed reading or something, and I lean against the cheap headboard. I tried to sleep earlier. Dean insisted I should and even sat next to me rubbing my back until I'd mostly drifted off, but much to my dismay, I woke up soon.

And I sat awake now. For about two hours now, I've just sat and stared.

From the looks of it, Sam hadn't tried to sleep period. "Sam?" I whisper, trying to grab his attention.

He gives me an annoyed look. "Really, Nat, you should try to sleep..."

"Yeah, but I can't."

"Maybe you should lay down," he says. "I hear it helps with the sleep thing..."

"Very funny," I hiss at him.

He smirks, closes his book, and scoots up to where I am. "What's the big deal?" he asks. "Nightmares again or something?"

I shrug. I have nightmares a lot; sometimes so bad, it's embarrassing, but I guess he has them too, maybe even more than me, so he understands at least. "Not tonight," I say. Tonight it isn't nightmares as much as worrying about Dad and wondering about Iggy. "Sam, what'd you tell Dad about my friend?"

"Nothing much," he tells me. "Just that he seemed kind of suspicious."

I groan. "Suspicious how?"

"I dunno, Nat," he says impatiently. "Just a feeling is all."

Somehow I get the feeling _he_ might be lying to me same as Dad was, and I don't like it. "Sam, just tell me," I insist. "Whatever it is, just tell me."

"That's it. Really, that was it."

"Well, that's stupid," I say, giving him a dirty look. "You guys are getting that worked up about a stupid feeling?"

I cross my arms out of frustration and huff.

"Calm down," he says firmly. "Looks like you're the one getting worked up right now..."

I know I am, but I can't help it. It seems like the entire universe doesn't want me to have one good friend sometimes, and when I find one, my brother and Dad act weird about him.

"Believe me, Nat." He puts a hand on my shoulder and I look up at him. "I'm not doing this on purpose. I get it, you wanna be normal and have friends."

He doesn't have to tell me that. We all know he wants that, probably more than me.

His face softens and he pats my knee. "Just listen to me for—" He stops when we hear a loud knock at the door.

Dean pops up, pulling the gun out from underneath his pillow. "Stay there," he yells at us as he approaches the door.

He looks out the peephole and sighs, opening the door quickly.

I jolt until I realize it's just Bobby.

"Where's your idgit father?" he demands before any greetings.

Dean looks at Sam and me both and back at Bobby. "We don't know."

* * *

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	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own.

* * *

Bobby takes a few steps in and takes a seat in the motel chair. "What do you mean he's gone?" He props an elbow on the small table and presses his forehead into the palm of his hand. "That piece of …" He pauses and points a finger at me for a second. "Nat, cover your ears."

I don't bother covering them and listen closer. Whatever he's gonna say, I've probably heard at least a thousand times before, and I figured out a long time ago when an adult says "cover your ears", it means they're about to say something worth hearing. "Cover your eyes" means you're about to see something good too.

"I told that jackass to wait for me before he went and did anything stupid," Bobby rambles on, his mouth hardly as colorful as my dad's. "I swear I'm gonna kick his head in one of these days, and he'd damn well deserve it too. He told me he would wait when I called a few hours ago..."

"Did he say anything else to you then?" Dean asks. "Like about where he was going?"

"Just that we'd figure it out in the morning, and that Sam and Natalie here are staying at my place for a while..."

"Great." Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "Well, he did say to tell you he was missing if he wasn't back by morning before he left... That's about the only helpful thing we have to go on."

Bobby shakes his head. "I guess we wait then. Unless you idgits got a better idea."

"You sure he didn't he tell you where he was going?" Sam asks, a confused look on his face.

"If I knew, I'd have gone there." Bobby shifts so he's leaning into the back of the chair. Everything about him says he's nervous. "Only location he gave me was this motel room."

Bobby wouldn't lie to us. Sam should know he isn't like Dad, but Sam is probably just worried and double-checking. I know he likes Bobby. We all do. He's like the crazy uncle we never had or something. If we have any real uncles, Dad's never told us about them. When Dad talks about the importance of family, he means us four and the select few he's chosen to call family. So pretty much us four, Pastor Jim, and Bobby.

"Just freaking great." Dean takes a seat in the chair opposite Bobby. "So much for sleep..."

"Yeah, I'm not sleeping," I agree.

Dean promptly shakes his head at me and points to one of the beds "Uh uh, you're gonna sleep."

I look at Bobby. If he says I don't have to, I can probably get away with not listening to Dean, but he just nods his head towards Dean, a nonverbal reminder to listen to my brother. _Perfect. _

I cross my arms. This is unfair. Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm any less worried about Dad. "Why?"

Dean leans forward on his knees. "'Cause you get crabby when you don't sleep. That's why."

"I do _not_," I hiss. No more impossible than they become to deal with at least. We're all sleep-deprived all the time, and I especially don't wanna miss out on any action tonight.

Dean motions for me with his finger. "Come here."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

Gosh, he's bossy. I'm probably the only little sister in the universe with a big brother who says that to me as often as my dad. "No," I say, too frustrated to listen right now.

"Come _here_," he repeats less patient than the first time.

When I stand still, he reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me in front of him. Still holding my hand in his, he lifts my chin up with his other. "Listen, I know you're worried, but right now the best thing you can do for any of us is get some sleep."

I shake my head. "I won't be able to."

"You can't say that if you don't try, can you?"

I look to my feet. Maybe not all the time, but in this case I can. If crying weren't so babylike, I'd cry right now. I'm used to worrying about Dad, but if Bobby is worrying about him, then it must be really bad this time... I stopped crying so much years ago. It wasn't worth it anyways, and I wanted my brothers and Dad to think I was tough.

"Go on," Dean pushes. "To bed with you."

I shake my head again.

"Go on while I'm still feeling nice. You don't wanna see my mean side now, do you?"

I'd seen his mean side a few times, but Dean mostly just talks tougher than he really is. Dean's idea of being mean is nothing compared to our father's.

"Natalie, I'm not asking anymore," Dean says, the patience in his tone gone. "Go on."

"Fine." I roll my eyes and flip around. I wouldn't be stubborn any other night, but I'm worried about Dad too. How can they possibly expect me to sleep?

I hear Bobby chuckle in the background, and Dean's angry sigh. "You're lucky I'm not Dad, Nat," he calls after me. "You might end up sleeping on your stomach with an attitude like that."

I roll my eyes again. Dean's exaggerating just to scare me... He says stuff like that all the time. Sure, Dad doesn't take kindly to attitude because he says hunting leaves no room for disobedience, but my attitude wasn't that bad. If it was, Dean'd have threatened to tell Dad or told me we weren't done talking or something.

Sometimes I really, really hate that Dad puts Dean in charge so often. It's almost like having two Dads, but at least Dean is the cool one most of the time.

"Thank you, Natalie," he adds when I'm half way to the bed, and I pause for a second just to irritate him. Something about his thank you felt like he was teasing me.

"C'mon." Sam hooks an arm around my shoulder and guides me the rest of the way to the bed. Now he's gonna start with me too? I hate it when Sam's bossy. I'm used to it with Dean, but not Sam.

"But I'm not tired, Sam," I say, looking up at him hopefully.

He gives me a stern look, and I try not to pout. "What the hell, Sam?" I whisper harshly. "You always take up for me..."

"Yeah, but right now, you do need sleep," he insists. I know I do, but how could I possibly sleep after hearing about Dad? They have to understand that...

He lifts me unto the bed "Lay down," he tells me.

"Please?" I probably sound like a stubborn three year old throwing a temper tantrum, but this is annoying.

He only hands me Frankie, my stuffed cat, and repeats himself, "Lay down."

I blush, embarrassed I still sleep with a stuffed toy and even more embarrassed he knows it too, and now Bobby can see it. Bobby probably doesn't care, but it's still embarrassing.

"Hey, if it makes you feel better, I'm going to bed too," he adds, and that wins me over. If he's going to bed too, it seems less like they're making me do this just because I'm the baby.

I lay down and curl up with Frankie.

Sam tosses the coverings over me and lays down too on the other side of the bed.

I drift off, but my eyes pop open when I hear the door open and shut a few moments later. "What's going on?" I ask Sam.

"Relax," he tells me. "They're probably just stepping out to talk about something. I'll go see what it is."

I feel his weight lift off the bed and hug Frankie tighter. I shouldn't be afraid. Like Sam said, it can't be anything big.

Sam comes back what feels like an eternity later. Before he talks to me, he salts the door and all the windows. I always wonder what the motel staff thinks about all the salt we leave behind whenever we go. Sometimes Dad has us clean it up, but other times we're in a hurry and don't even bother. They can't enjoy it. Salt is a pain to clean up, and nine times out of ten Dad doesn't pay for all the nights we stayed. I overheard him tell my brothers that was why we stay in cheap motels once—they don't ask for credit cards up front.

"Where'd they go?" I ask Sam.

"They're gonna look for him," he tells me.

"Oh..."

"Don't worry. I'm staying with you."

He climbs back on the bed, and it does bring a slight amount of comfort. They rarely ever leave me alone. One of my brothers always stays with me, and on the odd occasion, Dad takes us all out with him.

"I can't sleep," I tell him, pulling myself up.

He runs a hand through his hair. "God, Nat, you're not even trying..."

"I am _too_ trying!"

He smirks. "Yeah, sure, you are."

I stick my tongue out at him and reach for the remote on the nightstand to flip the TV on. The movie _It_ is playing on whatever channel we left it on.

"Natalie!" he snaps at me.

"Well, are you gonna sleep either?"

He rips the remote out of my hands, but instead of turning the TV off, he flips the channel. "Alright, alright," he says. "But I get to pick the show."

He's only saying that because it's a clown movie. I've never met another person more afraid of them. I'm deathly afraid of spiders to the point even fake ones made me jump. Sam and Dean were real mean and put a bunch of fake ones in my bed once, but at least I'm not afraid of something stupid like clowns.

We end up watching a rerun of _The Brady Bunch_ on _NickAtNite_, and despite fighting it as hard as I possibly can, I pass out from exhaustion half way through the episode.

xxxx

When I wake up, the clock on the nightstand reads 12:38 PM. I glance around the room. The showering's running, so I assume that's where Sam is, but no signs of Dad, Dean, or Bobby. The Impala isn't in the parking spot outside the room either.

I pull my messy blonde hair in a ponytail. There's so much of it, but I don't feel like trying to comb through it right now. The blonde hair is my mother's and so are most of my other facial features. My eyes are my Dad's though—that's what everyone always tells me.

Hair pulled back, I plop back down on the bed. The shower still runs, and the sound makes me thirsty. I fish through my backpack for spare change and decide to find a vending machine. I probably shouldn't leave the motel room without telling Sam, but I'll be back before he gets out anyway.

He takes the longest showers for a guy. Probably because his hair is as long as some girls' I know.

I find a vending machine about two rooms away from ours and buy myself a Sprite, and when I turn around, I do a double take. I swear the kid and the man approaching the lobby are Iggy and his father. In fact I'm certain of it.

I stare at him. He doesn't notice me. His Dad looks like he's chewing him out about something, and he looks towards the ground, nodding each step of the way. A girl trails behind them. She looks older, but not old enough to be his mom. He never told me he had a sister, but she must be … She looks like she would be …

I gasp, feeling myself yanked backwards until I realize it's Sam. "You gave me a heart attack Sam," I tell him.

He says nothing and drags me back in the room.

Once inside, he slams the door and resalts everything.

"What the hell?" he demands, glaring at me.

"I didn't think you'd be out of the shower, and I was thirsty," I promptly defend myself.

He crosses his arms and keeps glaring. My first instinct is to tell him he was the one who ran away for a couple weeks once, so he really should talk, but then I see just how concerned he is in his eyes. "Sorry," I say. "I should've waited..."

"Damn right, you should've!"

For some reason when he's mad, he looks taller and twenty times more intimidating. "Sam, I think I saw Iggy here," I tell him to change the subject.

"Really? You sure?"

I nod. "He was walking to the lobby with his family."

"This isn't some crazy story to take my mind off what you did?" he asks.

"No, I really_ did_ see him and his family."

He sighs and pauses to think for a moment. "Guess we'll have to do some spying this afternoon then," he concludes, patting my shoulder.

My eyes grow wide. He said _we_. The thought of spying on a good friend seems wrong, but I'm too excited I overlook it.

* * *

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	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own.

* * *

I pace the room, practically bouncing with each step I take. The best thing about Sam is he lets me do more on hunts than Dad or Dean ever would. Of course he'd never let me do the really dangerous stuff, but it's nice he doesn't treat me like I'm just a stupid little girl who should be playing dress up with her dolls instead of hunting with the big boys. It's funny because he's the one who likes hunting the least. He says he'd rather go to school and be normal, so you'd think he'd encourage me to do just that and insist I never hunt with them, but he doesn't. I think he knows I'd hate him for it.

Still, you'd think Dad and Dead would encourage me more with how much they enjoy it. Neither of them admit they enjoy it, but sometimes I think they must with how determined they seem. Still I never get to do anything. Aside from making sure I can shoot and reload a gun—Dad's given me at least a hundred lectures about always being prepared—they push me to the sidelines and expect me to sit there quietly, not matter what happened on the hunt.

I look at Sam and wonder if we should wait for the others to get back before beginning this adventure. Even though I'd probably be forced to stay in the hotel room, it seems like the move Dad would want us to take. In fact, he'd be furious if he knew Sam was letting me do this, but the prospect of getting to do something instead of just stand there and have orders barked at me is too exciting to pass up. Sam is genius smart anyway, so he has to know what we're doing, right? I trust him completely. He'll know what to do. I'd never tall Dad or Dean this, but I actually think he's a better hunter than both of them.

"So how're we gonna do this?" I ask him, growing more and more impatient as the seconds tick by. Part of me is anxious Sam might be right about Iggy, but the other half of me hopes I can point all the evidence in his face and tell him he was worrying for nothing this entire time.

"Maybe I should just do this by myself," he says with a sigh.

"No!" I shake my head furiously. "You said I—"

"This isn't a game, Natalie," he cuts me off. "You're acting like an hyperactive three year old on a Mountain Dew high, and it's pissing me off. Sit down for a second."

He points to the bed and I stand still, just staring at him. This isn't Sam. Sam isn't bossy like this! Dean is all the time, and everybody in the entire universe knows my Dad is an uptight person, but Sam doesn't bark orders at me. He just doesn't.

"Sit," he repeats himself, pointing his finger again and shaking it slightly.

"I'm not a dog," I grumble at him.

He narrows his eyes at me. "I'm serious. You're making me anxious bouncing off the walls like this."

"I'm _not_ bouncing off the walls," I insist, crossing my arms indignantly. "I'm just happy."

He gets up and pushes down on my shoulders to make me sit. I glare up at him. Gosh, he looks so tall from this angle and very intimidating. "You're a jerk." I regret that I couldn't come up with a better insult, and he knows it too.

He just smirks at me and goes back to sit on the other bed. "How long do we have to wait?" I ask.

He rubs his temples. "How many questions are you gonna ask me? Fifty?"

I shrug. "Depends on how many it takes me until you answer me."

"Well, shut up and listen good then, so I can tell you the plan." He glances at me for a positive response.

I nod, and he sighs. "Alright, we're gonna wait until their cars gone. You saw the car they got out of, right?"

"Yeah."

"Did you happen to see what room they walked to?"

"They were walking to the lobby..." I groan, realizing we don't have much to go off of.

"Well, we'll see if we can't catch one of them walking out of the room," Sam says. "And then when we're sure they're gone, we'll break into the room and check things out."

"I'll go watch for them out the window," I tell Sam, getting up immediately. "Or maybe I can do stand by the vending machine, since I say them there before."

"No," Sam snaps at me and walks over me to make me sit down again.

"What?" I ask him. "They both sound like okay ideas to me..."

"You can't stand there like a gawking idiot," he says, running a hand through his hair. "They'll be suspicious immediately. Even people would get suspicious, Nat. If they're demons or something, that's just asking for trouble."

I know he's right, and I feel embarrassed, but still, this is annoying. "Saaaam, you're not giving me anything to go off of and I'm just trying to be helpful!" I whine, pouting a bit for good measure. That'd never work on Dean or Dad, but Sam falls prey to it sometimes.

He shakes his head at me and says nothing for a while.

I twiddle my thumbs nervously, certain he'll tell me I can't do this anymore. I especially think that when he shoves a few items in his pockets. He's gonna walk out that door and leave me here by myself... I look to my feet and prepare myself for the inevitable door slam. I'm used to this. It's how things work ninety percent of the time.

"C'mon," he says a moment later, holding his hand out to me.

I look up and give him a hopeful grin. I shouldn't have doubted him. Sam always comes around. "Where're we going?"

"We're gonna go for a walk. Maybe something'll jump out at us then, but you gotta act normal." He pauses for a moment and gives me that "you're being an annoying little sister" look. "No bouncing around or gawking, you got it?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm not stupid, Sam. Jeez, I was just excited. I never get to do anything like this_ ever_."

"And I can see why," says, pulling me up by my hand. "C'mon."

xxxx

Sam and I walk around the neighborhood for a while. Sam says we can't just walk around the hotel grounds the whole time, or it'll look suspicious. He's right, and looking back on it, he was probably right about me acting too giddy about getting to go on a hunt. It isn't a game. I know that. It's just so hard to stand there and watch them do the things they do and not get to be a part of any of it. Especially when they're in danger, and I just have to sit there, watching it happen. If I run into the fire, Dad would surely kill me later, even _if _I helped save them. I mean, I guess he insists Sam and Dean stay back too if he's going to do something really dangerous, but sometimes I swear I'm singled out for being the only girl.

I wonder if things would be different if I were a boy. Would they baby me just as much? Or would they try to toughen me up? I don't know, but sometimes it seems like it would be a heck of a lot easier to be male. I could think of lots of reasons why. You know what one of the most annoying things is? Sometimes Dad'll just pull the car over to let us pee outside of stopping at a gas station, and it's really hard to relieve yourself in the middle of nowhere when you're a girl. Really, really hard, but they never understand that. They think I'm just whining about nothing when I complain. Stupid things like that would be easier if I were a boy.

And maybe I'd understand them better and vice versa. Sometimes boys are so gross, but if I burp or pass gas, they tease me for not acting like a lady. It just really, really sucks to be the only girl sometimes. I could go on and on and on about it forever.

"Notice anything yet?" I whisper to Sam.

"Yeah, I saw the room Iggy came out of when he went to use the vending machine," he says. "When we get to the hotel parking lot, you bump my elbow if the car they drove here is gone, and then we'll go check out the room, got it?"

"Got it."

I smile on the inside. We'd made it a few blocks away from the hotel, but now the real action will start.

xxxx

The car isn't gone when we get back, and Sam and I end up waiting in our hotel room another hour and a half. I do my best to sit still. I can't ruin my chances now, but when I peek out the window and see the car is gone, I can't help but jump.

"C'mon, Sam," I drag him off the bed and hurry him out the door with me.

We approach their room slowly and Sam looks through the window quick to make sure no one's in there. He makes me stand a couple feet away while he picks the lock, and once he's in, I have to wait for his okay until I'm allowed to enter.

The first thing I see is a pile of newspaper clippings on the table. I piece through them. They're marked for certain things and look nearly exactly like what my Dad does when he's looking for potential hunts. It baffles me but confirms I'd been right all along. Maybe they were just people, just hunters like us, and that's why Sam and Dad were so suspicious. Sam grabs my arm and puts the clippings down the way we found them and drags me out of the room. As he does I notice rock salt on the window. That makes it 100% right—they are hunters.

"Sam?" I say, but he claps a hand over my mouth and doesn't let me talk until we reach our room.

"What the hell?" I try to catch my breath, and he just shakes his head.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were hunters."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing ..." I tell him. "I _told _you there was nothing weird about him."

He gives me a puzzled look. "You honestly think hunters aren't weird?"

I don't get a chance to say anything. The door bursts open, and Bobby storms in.

"Pack your bags, we're leaving..." he says.

"Bobby?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, I'll explain on the way."

I look at Sam and he throws my backpack in front of me. I pack it as quickly as I can and follow them out of the room.

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	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own.

* * *

"Bobby, you'd said you'd explain," Sam reminds him as soon we were a block away from the motel. He might be the most impatient person I know, but at least Bobby is twenty times easier to deal with than my dad. Most people are.

"Give it time, boy." Bobby shakes his head and steps on the gas more. "We just got goin'."

Sam sighs, but not loud enough to be disrespectful. He's always listened to Bobby better than our father. Hell, he even listens to Dean better than Dad.

We drive for several miles. I clutch Frankie in my lap and lean against the inside of the van, too nervous to care I'm holding onto a stuffed animal anymore. I'm used to packing up and leaving like this, but I have a bad feeling about this time I can't shake. Plus Sam and I never got to figure out what was up with Iggy and his family. We figured out they were hunters, sure, but what were they hunting? Are we hunting the same thing now? I don't know, and now I might never know because we'd just left.

I turn to Sam. "Should we tell Bobby about Iggy?" I whisper to him quiet enough so only he can hear me.

"Not now," Sam mouths to me, and even though it makes no sense why he wouldn't want to tell Bobby, I keep quiet and honor his wishes.

Maybe he thinks Bobby would be upset Sam let me spy with him. I know my dad would be, but I'd bet Bobby wouldn't be, and if he was, he'd probably just shake his head and say being curious is in my blood. I overheard him say something like that to Dad once when Dad was whining I'd been giving him a lot of trouble anyway...

"Your daddy wants you two at my house until they get get rid of the poltergeist," Bobby explains a few minutes later. "He had a bad feeling about leaving you guys at that motel."

"Why?" I ask. The motel seemed no different to me than any other cheap motel we'd stayed at. They were all the same; sometimes musty and always rundown to the point it looked like you were stepping back three or four decades in history. The wallpaper was usually floral or some ugly green, and sometimes everything was so old, there wasn't even a TV, and if there was one, sometimes it was black and white.

"Yeah," Sam adds. "I didn't think there was anything wrong with the motel..."

Bobby heaves a sigh. "All I know is he demanded I come get you and bring you to my place."

"Did he give you a reason why?" Sam presses.

"Nope, that was is."

I hug Frankie tighter. When Dad demands something like that, it usually means something big is happening, but the funny thing is nothing big has jumped out at me yet. Everything seems just like the average hunt. Tension is always high, and everything is always fast-paced, but this time it feels different, and I can't put my finger on why.

Sam pats the space next to him on the backseat. I crawl closer to him, and when he puts an arm around me, I lean into his side and try to relax. Dean's right. I am crabby when I don't get enough sleep. Maybe that's all this feeling is because I feel mighty crabby now. It's that upset kind of crabby where you know you're just over-tired even if you have something serious to worry about. After all I only got a couple hours of sleep last night. I let a few tears slide down my cheeks and hope no one saw them. Bobby seems focused on driving and I don't think Sam did or maybe he'd have said something to me.

I close my eyes and cling to Sam tighter, hoping I can sleep until we get there. It takes me a while to drift off, but I eventually do.

xxxx

_I wander around the backyard with Chelsea. We play on the swing set for a long time, and then she tells me we're going to do something extra fun today. That's when she leads me to our tree-house and tells me about her secret friend Esther who lives there. My eyes widen. She's never told me this before, and it feels so exciting._

_Chelsea climbs up the ladder first and motions for me to follow her. "C'mon, Natalie," she calls to encourage me once more, and I take a deep breath._

_Frankie tucked under one arm, I slowly make my way up the ladder and join Chelsea inside._

_Esther sits next to Chelsea. She looks sad and has a big scar on her face. It goes from her eye down to her neck and looks like it still hurts. I want to touch it, but that would be silly. Her clothes look funny too. She wears an old gray dress with lots of holes in it. It looks different than the overalls and t-shirts Chelsea and I are wearing._

_I hold my stuffed cat tighter and give Chelsea an uneasy glance. "It's okay, Nat," she tells me confidently. "Esther won't hurt you. She's friendly."_

_I'm not so sure, but Chelsea knows everything about everything. She wouldn't lie to me, so I nod at Esther and say, "Hi."_

_She smiles a big smile and tells us she has a game for us to play. A game sounds like fun, and Chelsea looks happy so it must be._

_Esther slides a board out from behind her. It's big with a bunch of alphabet letters and other pictures on it, and there's a piece that looks kind of like a triangle on top of the board._

_"It's really cool, Natalie," Chelsea assures me. "You can talk to people without having to use a phone, even dead people."_

_Esther nods, but suddenly I feel nervous. I sit quietly in the corner of the tree-house and hold Frankie tight, watching as they play the game. Esther says some words, but I didn't hear them or understand them all, and then she and Chelsea put their hands on the triangle thing, and it moves across the letters. I can't spell many words yet, only my name, cat, dog, Mommy, and Chelsea, so I don't know what it says._

_"Natalie, you should ask a question," Esther says to me, waving for me to come closer._

_I shake my head._

_"I don't think she's ready," Chelsea tells her and scoots close to me. "It's okay, Natalie. You don't have to play if you don't want."_

_She pats my back, and I feel better._

_"Fine, another day that," Hester says, and that bright smile returns to her lips. I don't know why, but it looks so scary. It didn't a few minutes ago, but now it's very, very scary._

_…_

_Mommy is angry at Chelsea. I watch on nervously. "I told you Esther isn't real, and now you've convinced Natalie she is too."_

_I don't like it when Mommy is mad at Chelsea. I wish she wouldn't be._

_"But she is, Mommy!" Chelsea insists._

_Mommy grips Chelsea's shoulders tightly and gives her a look. I know that look. It's the "you're in trouble" look. "I know she seems real, but she's not, honey, and you need to stop this nonsense. You need to stop playing with her."_

_Chelsea rips herself out of Mommy's grip and runs to me. "Natalie, tell Mom Esther is real."_

_I nod._

_"Chelsea," Mommy warns. "Enough of this. I've had it up to here!" Her voice sounds mean now, and I back away from her._

_Chelsea starts crying and runs outside to the tree-house. Mommy chases after her. "Chelsea, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell!"_

_I sit down on the floor. Esther walks up to me and sits down across from me. "I don't like that woman."_

_…_

_Mommy's on the phone. "It's getting worse, John."_

_I wonder who John is. Do I know John?_

_"I … I don't think it's just an imaginary friend anymore."_

_I walk up to Mommy and tug on her dress. She picks me up and holds me on her hip. "I'll call you back, John," she says and hangs up the phone._

_"Natalie, baby, you're supposed to be in bed," she gently scolds._

_She carries me to Chelsea's and my room and sets me on my bed. I start crying when she leaves, and Chelsea comes to lay down beside me. She rubs my back and I hold on to her. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Esther watching us and it scares me. I cling to my sister tighter._

_"Not now, Esther," Chelsea tells her. "We need to sleep."_

_"Okay, I'll come back tomorrow," Esther says._

_I blink, and she's gone._

_…_

_"Can't I do it for her?" Chelsea begs Esther._

_"No, it has to be Natalie." Esther turns to me. "Go on, Natalie."_

_"But I don't wanna," I protest as loud as my little body will let me. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do, but I know I don't wanna do it._

_Esther holds her hand out to me. "You have to."_

_I turn to Chelsea for help. She steps in front of me and shakes her head firmly. "No, she said doesn't want to."_

_Esther glares at both of us, and then she disappears._

_I hug Chelsea. "It'll be okay, Nat," she assures me. "I'll talk to her and tell her you can't."_

_I nod, even though I know it won't be okay._

xxxx

My eyes bolt open, and I try to catch my breath. This is the most I've ever dreamed about my mom and sister in a long time, if ever, and I try to make sense of it. Usually I just dream the same two memories over and over again, but this time, I didn't. This time I dreamed a lot of memories.

I wipe at my eyes, trying to shield tears. They can't know I'm crying. Crying is weak and for babies.

"You okay?" Sam asks me.

"You looked like you were having an intense dream, kid." Bobby turns around for a brief second to give me a sympathetic look. "Wanna tell me an' your brother about it?"

I shake my head. "It's okay."

Sam lifts an eyebrow like he doesn't believe me. "You did have a nightmare though?"

"Yeah, but just the same one I always do," I say. "It's no big deal." It's a big fat lie is what it is, and I know I should tell Sam everything I saw, but I just can't. Not right now. Maybe later after I have a chance to think about it myself.

I still don't understand what happened.

All I can say is it's over. Whatever happened with Esther, it's over. Chelsea and Mom are dead, so it has to be over. Maybe she's the reason they died for all I know, but she can't hurt me now. Esther must be gone too. If my Mom called Dad, Dad would've gotten rid of her, wouldn't he?

I repeat this to myself over and over again, but still it brings little comfort.

* * *

Hey everyone! Thanks for reading and especially for reviewing. ;)

Traffic seems to be picking up, and that's really exciting to me. It'd be equally cool if I could hear from a few of your silent followers/lurkers this time around. Even if it's just a sentence or one word comment, it boosts my motivation to update tenfold! :D


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own.

Apologies for lapse in update. I will try to find my internal motivation, but I gotta admit reviews are pretty dang powerful external motivation. The more I get, the more likely I am to update fast. :D Thanks to those who've reviewed so far. You are probably the SOLE reason I haven't hit the delete button yet. Much love your way! 3

* * *

We've been at Bobby's for a week now, but it feels so much longer. Dad already took care of whatever plagued Aberdeen, South Dakota, but things are popping up all over the state, and he's been traveling nonstop. He and Dean stopped here a couple days ago, and I overheard him tell Dean he thinks the thing that killed my brothers' Mom, his first and only wife, is lurking somewhere in the area. He's obsessed about finding that thing and killing it. That's all he ever talks about sometimes, and I hate it.

He never talks about what killed my mom. I always thought he'd killed what killed my mom, but lately I get the feeling he lies to me. I don't know why. I just do. Maybe he thinks he killed it, but something tells me he really didn't, and I can't explain why I feel that way so I keep my mouth shut. He probably appreciates that. I've gotten yelled at one to many times for asking questions to know.

Whenever I try to talk to him about things, he thinks I'm questioning his authority, and that's never a good thing. Dad's strict like that, like one of those Dads from old TV shows—he's always right and everything he says goes, and if you question him, well then you better be prepared to be told your wrong. Sometimes he's okay, like at the motel when he sat me on his lap and asked me about Iggy. That's him at his best, but at his worst, he honestly scares me a little, and right now, his worst is approaching. I can feel it.

We all can, and that's the problem. It isn't just his kids, it's everybody. Bobby too, and the last couple times Dad's shown up here, Bobby looked as though he wanted to punch him. Bobby tells him all the time he needs to slow down and "pull his his head out of his ass" to use his exact words, but Dad just leaves and ignores him, leaving us here in Bobby's care, and I could punch him too. He could thank Bobby. He gets angry at us for being impolite, but he might be the rudest person I know. Bobby does a lot for him, and he doesn't even realize it.

I just can't stand my father some days. Most of the time, I think Sam provokes him too much, but other times, Sam is 100% right and maybe the only one of us with enough guts to stand up to Dad. Dean wouldn't. I would maybe, but like I said, he scares me.

Maybe I'm just whining through. After all, I'm pissed at him for my own selfish reasons. I told him I wasn't feeling well the last time I saw him. It was half a lie. Truth is I just wanted to see him. I just wanted him to stay one night in case I really needed him to, but he couldn't do that. He just said, "Nat, I'm sure you'll be fine. Bobby or your brothers'll take care of you."

And when I complained, he said, "You know why I have to leave."

And when I still complained, he glared his "You better watch it" at me, and that told me I had to shut up if I intended to live...

I was so mad. I still don't know why he always has to leave. I don't know why everybody else should have to take care of me before he does. I like Bobby. I like Sam. I like Dean. But none of them are my father. I don't know why it matters, but it does. A real father should want to take care of us kids before anything else, right? Especially if they tell him they're sick...

Who knows. Maybe I really am sick. It's these nightmares; they're getting worse.

Sometimes it's the recurring one, the one I always have about falling off my bike and then Mom dying; sometimes it's the new ones and that Esther girl haunts me so bad I still see her image in daylight.

Sometimes I remember everything; sometimes I remember nothing at all.

Sometimes I just wake up screaming and have no idea why I'm screaming. I scare people when I do that. Sam knows that feeling all too well himself, and Bobby calls my dad, telling him he should be concerned, but apparently he insists this happens to me all the time. Bobby doesn't tell me that, but Dad isn't exactly rushing back here either so it has to be true.

Dean came back this morning though. At first I didn't think it was about me, but now I know it is. He's been following me around all day, as if he's bound and determined to annoy the crap out of me before he says anything valuable. That's Dean's way of saying he's worried about you.

"This show is always pretty lame, huh?" Dean points to the TV where an episode of Scooby-Doo is playing. "All the fake ghosts and zombie crap. People like us, we do the real thing. No man behind the monster mask when we gank those bas—" He clears his throat. "Um, bad guys."

I snap my head towards him. "You can say bastard in front of me, Dean."

He ignores me and keeps talking about the show. "I'll tell you something though. When I was your age, I had the biggest crush on Daphne. I think Sam was into Velma, 'cause of course he's a giant nerd too. How 'bout you, kid? Your eyes set on Fred or Shaggy?"

"I'd rather have Leonardo DiCaprio."

He lifts an eyebrow. "No way, you can only crush on cartoon characters until you're sixteen."

"Well, that's a stupid rule..."

"I think it's an awesome rule. I came up with it myself."

I shoot him a glare. "Of course you did."

He smirks. "You bet."

I roll my eyes and cross my legs on the floor, trying to get more comfortable in front of the TV. Dean's right about Scooby-Doo. It's an alright show to watch, but when they find out it's all fake at the end, well, we know that's a bunch of bullshit to use the exact phrase Dean would stay. Still, I'd rather just watch the show than listen to my brother's useless commentary.

Apparently he thinks I need to hear more of it. "The only good part about this show is the dog. And not Scooby-Doo... I'm talking about Scrappy-Doo—"

"Would you just shut up already?" I hiss at him.

He picks up the remote and flips off the TV, sending me one heck of a look. "That's it. Enough of your attitude."

I sigh and reach for the remote from his hands, but he tosses it across the room, effortlessly picks me up in one arm, and drags me away with him. We don't go far. Just to a nearby couch and he sets me down beside him.

I make a break for it as soon as he loosens his grip, but he's much too quick to pull me back. "No way, we're gonna talk about a few things whether you want to or not," he says, keeping a strong hold on both my shoulders.

I quit struggling realizing I have absolutely nowhere to go, but I'm not cooperating that easily, so I give him a giant pout and cross my arms.

Dad would be seeing red at this point, but Dean just shakes his head and starts talking. "Now I've asked you a couple times already today about these nightmares." He taps my arm to be sure he has my attention. "Sam told me all about them, but you keep pretending you don't know what I'm talking about. That ends ends right now."

Ugh, I hate him sometimes. I really do. "I don't remember them all."

"Then tell me what you do remember."

I turn my head away, but he pushes my chin right back in his direction. "Hey, I get it. You're probably losing sleep over it, it's making you damn cranky. I get that. I do, but you don't get to take that out on me. I'm trying to help."

"It'd help a lot more if you shut up," I grumble at him.

He leans closer to me, and I can tell by the way he stares, he's losing his patience. "One more comment like that out of you, and I'm done," he says tersely. "I'm serious, Natalie. I've been listening to your moody crap all morning, and I'm sick of it."

I almost tell him I'm sick of him. I know I should talk about the nightmares, but I don't want to. If I talk about it, I'll cry, and I hate crying in front of people. I just can't stand it. It makes me feel like a giant baby, and none of them cry. Only Sam sometimes, but he doesn't cry, cry. No, he just gets teary-eyed. That's not the same as bawling the way I do sometimes. By the time you're ten, you shouldn't need to bawl anymore period.

"What's with the nightmares?" he presses again.

I frown. "They don't really matter. Just the same dreams I always have."

"Hmm, alright." He nods, but I can tell by his tone, he doesn't believe me. "Tell me then why they're only now turning you into a little brat. Sometimes you act like a little angel, you know. What gives?"

"I dunno..."

"Sure you do."

"Well, I guess they usually don't happen this often," I say, staring into my lap to avoid looking at him.

He sighs and tilts my shoulders so I'm facing him. "That's something. How often? Every night?"

"Multiple times a night..."

"About what?"

That's the part I don't want to answer. I shrug.

He reaches out and pulls me into his arms. "About what?" he repeats as though the embrace is supposed to make me open up more.

I shake my head.

He sighs and tightens his grip around me. I wish he wouldn't. The longer I lean against him, the more I feel like telling him, and that would make his assumptions right and make him prove smarter than me. He can't assume I'll tell him everything if he's nice to me. That's … I don't know what it is, but I hate it.

Still, I can't bring myself to pull away, and I guess that's the worst part of all. He knows it too.

I rest my head on his chest and say a silent prayer he doesn't ask me anything more. He does. "About what?"

He sounds like a broken record. I push myself up. As nice as this feels, I'm not telling him. I'm not telling any of them, because they're just stupid memories and I should be able to get over them myself.

"No," he says, wrapping his arms around my arms so tight I can hardly move. "You'll stay right here until you tell me everything."

The sets me right off, and I flail as hard as I can only to discover he's fifty times stronger than me. "I have to pee, Dean," I lie.

He stifles a small chuckle. Damn it, he knows I'm lying too. "Then you better start talking fast, huh?"

"You ever heard of some little girl name Esther?" The words leave my lips like venom.

It stings to admit I'm afraid of some dead little ghost girl.

Dean's arms stiffen. Great, he knows what I'm talking about...

"I dream about her and my sister a lot," I tell him. "She … she's probably dead now though."

He doesn't say anything for a long time. I try to break away, but he holds me tight, and that worries me. If he's anxious, maybe my anxiousness is real and not just because I'm a coward. "Is … is this bad, Dean? I mean, that I'm dreaming about her?" I ask him.

"No," he says quickly. "No, she's dead, Nat. Just I can't believe you remember that. You were two..."

"Well, I do." I heave a heavy sigh.

I remember way more than I want to, and when I go to bed that night, I overhear Dean call Dad.

He thinks I'm asleep, but I'm not and I hear everything he says.

"I think it could be serious, Dad," Dean says. "This shit shouldn't just pop out of nowhere..."

I hug my stuffed cat tighter to me.

"Yeah, I'll ask her in the morning."

Ask me what?

All I hear after that is a bunch of yes sirs. Dean hangs up and comes to sit beside me. I close my eyes so he thinks I'm asleep.

He strokes my hair and doesn't leave my side. Why's he so worried? I thought this girl was dead. She is dead, right? Like really dead they burned her bones dead?

I take deep breaths and tell myself my brother is next to me. If anything happens, he can stop it, but when I finally drift off, it doesn't matter.

I see her.


End file.
